


A Silent Book

by BigE2955



Category: A Silent Voice, Koe no Katachi, Naruto
Genre: Crossover, Gen, I'll be adding relationships/more characters as they come up in the story., Minor Character Death, Pairings are not defined, Pairings will not change the course of the work, Redemption, genfic, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 10:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13785657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigE2955/pseuds/BigE2955
Summary: A diary is all Shoya leaves behind when he attempts suicide. Trapped in a coma, he is unable to redeem himself. Sasuke comes into possession of this diary--and in it, he sees the details of Shoya's life, the regrets he has, the people he's wronged. Circumstances are altered, and eventually, Sasuke goes on a journey to redeem Shoya while talking and interacting with people he never would have otherwise. It's a long path to redeeming the name of a person he's never even talked to... but fate has conspired to send Uchiha Sasuke down it.





	A Silent Book

**So, this should be an interesting story. As stated in the summary, it’s a crossover-- Naruto x A Silent Voice/Koe no Katachi, just with Sasuke as the crossover character, not Naruto. This takes place in the A Silent Voice universe… and there will be no other crossover characters, aside from Sasuke’s family.**

**This is going to be a long A/N by the way, but it’ll clear up a few questions I’m sure you’ll have.**

**Is this going to be a shipping fiction? Probably not. Even if Sasuke does end up with someone, it won’t direct the course of the plot.**

**Are you going to bash or otherwise change characters? Again, probably not. Any changes will be from development and the necessary for the plot… I’m not going to suddenly make Ueno the nicest person in the world or something.**

**How is Sasuke going to fit into this? He doesn’t come from the Naruto world in this; he is not a shinobi in any way. For the purposes of this story, he’s been in the ASV world the entire time… he just hasn’t interacted with any of the characters as of yet.**

**Will this follow canon? Not really. From the very beginning things are slightly different, and it'll only get more and more different until 'canon' is basically nonexistent. So... yeah.**

**How long will this be? Not sure. I want to give every character their fair share, and really explore the possibilities this premise brings. So, we’ll see how long it is when we’re on the final stretch, I suppose.**

**And that should be a wrap for the A/N.**

**As always, please please please leave a comment. I really appreciate getting feedback on my work… I put a lot of work into it, and some recognition can go a long way. A kudos and a bookmark are awesome as well.**

**Well, strap in, and enjoy! Here comes the first chapter.**

\---

**Chapter I**

This diary was something that he had come to cherish.

He had poured so much of his heart into it--his soul, every ounce of his life for the past five years.. And for reasons he couldn’t quite clarify, the boy knew that there was no way he could destroy the thing that had slowly become more than just a simple journal; it was… a piece of himself now. A part of his psyche preserved in ink.

He stared at it, the diary clasped gently in his hand.

It was a malleable object, bendable and flexible; once upon a time it had been harder than a rock, but plenty of use and just plain age had turned the thick paperback volume into something much more brittle. Colored a dull brown, there was nothing distinguishable on the outside that would tip someone off as to what it really was. However… on the very first page, there was something jotted down.

In untidy, unnecessarily large kanjii, it read: ‘Property of Ishida Shoya’

Shoya opened it up--he grasped the pages between his thumb and pointer finger, allowing them to fly by. Every single one, all the way to the very end, was filled from top to bottom with his thoughts, his beliefs and his desires. About halfway through, in an effort to preserve the first book for as long as possible, he’d purposefully made his writing smaller--using every inch of the parchment at his disposal, even the margins.

Despite his best efforts, he’d been forced to get a second volume after the first had run out of space. This one was identical to the other, except for the fact that it was a forest green color instead. It hadn’t become as worn as the first one--but it had seen its fair share of use. Up until now, he’d only managed to get about three-fourths of the way through it.

Of course, that would continue no longer. If Shoya got his way… there would never be a third volume.

He sat cross legged in the little cubby hole he called his room; to his right were stacks and stacks of manga… to his left, a simple cardboard box. The room was devoid of personal objects--there wasn’t even a bed anymore. It was empty.

It seemed more like an attic than a place where someone lived.

Shoya swallowed. He rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms out and cracking his knuckles. This was an important moment--maybe something that he would think about until his last. He didn’t want to rush it.

Grasping a pen, Shoya set down the first book and flipped open the second--he leafed through the pages, until he was on a blank one directly after his latest entry. The tip of his pen hovered over the parchment… and after a moment’s pause, he began to write.

The penmanship was far better than he could ever achieve under normal circumstances. On a normal day, he’d be proud that he could write something even legible--but this… this looked _exquisite_ ; as if the universe was mocking him for his final decision by making sure he could read it, clear as day.

Shoya scooted back, gazing upon the glistening ink.

_‘Soon it will be April fifteenth; and that day will be my last one on Earth. Today is only the thirteenth, but this will be my last entry in my diary. To whom it may concern… I hope this book has helped you to understand why I’m going to go through with this. If someone does read this--thank you; and goodbye.’_

He took a deep breath. A breeze rolled in through his open window--cold and bitter despite the fact that it was well into spring. Shoya flipped the diary closed; he picked up both volumes, sliding them into the box on his left. Then, he grabbed stack after stack of manga that had been piled up nearby, dropping them over the diary until both volumes were obscured from view.

Sleeping without his bed sucked, but he had gotten used to it… creature comforts were of no use to a man who had a week to live after all. Tomorrow, he would go and sell his manga to whoever would buy it--he would collect his last paycheck soon after, and with any luck, finally have enough yen to pay his mother back for what he’d cost her those years back.

He would go to see Nishimiya once everything was ready; and tell her what he’d wanted to tell her for quite a while now. He would give her the notebook back. Share one last breakfast with his mom and niece and sister the next morning. Enjoy the fresh air a little even.

Then he would go to the tallest bridge in town and jump off of it.

There was some kind of relief in having the rest of his life plotted out like that: a sort of… finality that made him feel better than he had in ages. The suffering would end--he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of simply _living_. His mother and his family might be sad, sure… but they would get over it eventually.

This was for the better; because in the end, things weren’t going to get any better. At least this way, he had some kind of control over his fate.

Shoya sighed, curling up on the floor beside the box of manga. Over the past few years, he’d read almost every single one--they didn’t bring him as much joy as they used to, but they were at least _something_ to do… something to distract him, to make him forget the realities of his day-to-day life for even a moment.

There was a noise downstairs; probably Maria waking his mother up in the middle of the night for a glass of water. Shoya rolled over. He stared at the ceiling, his expression vacant.

He did not get an ounce of sleep that night.

The next day started off the same; breakfast with the family, and then school. For once, it seemed to go by quickly. Before he knew it, he found himself cycling home… along that open road, flanked by wide open fields, people going past him as they walked and laughed and did all these annoying little things that made his fingers tighten around the handlebars of his bike.

When he got home, Shoya trudged up to his ‘room’, grabbed his box of manga, and went right back out.

“What do you mean you won’t buy any of it?”

The shop owner shook his head gently. “These are manga I already have,” he said, his voice gruff. “And I have plenty of them in reserve. I’m not going to spend money for inventory I’ve got more than enough of; tough luck, kid… but you’re going to have to try somewhere else.”

Shoya grumbled something unintelligible under his breath; heaving the box up, he walked out of the door. A ringing bell announced his departure.

Still muttering under his breath, Shoya stepped out of the the store and-

Nearly ran into a woman that was standing just outside the door. Actually, he would have knocked her right over had he not veered out of the way at the last second--as a consequence, the box slipped right out of his hands and plummeted to the ground… only a single volume of manga or two fell out, but that in itself was yet another annoyance.

“My apologies,” the woman said. She bent low with obvious effort, picking up the manga that did fall out of the box and putting them right back inside. “Did you just buy all of these?” she asked, peering into the box. “You must be quite the enthusiast.”

“Maybe I used to,” Shoya replied drably--gaze fixated directly at the ground, as per the usual. “But I wasn’t buying it; I was trying to sell it.”

“Sell it?”

“I need money,” Shoya explained. “And I’m selling all of my things to get it. I wasn’t sure where else I could sell these manga.”

“Hmm,” the woman hummed. “Do you mind if I take a look at what kind of… erm… ‘manga’ you’ve got in there?”

“Be my guest.” He averted his gaze as she crouched low, flipping through the contents… by some minor miracle, she didn’t find his diaries stashed inside of the box. “I was only looking for twenty thousand yen or so… it cost way more to buy all of it in the first place.”

“Twenty thousand?” The woman looked up--Shoya was still looking away. “I’d be willing to buy this off of you,” she said. “But twenty thousand seems a little steep. How about… say… fifteen thousand?”

“I need all the money I can get, oba-san,” Shoya mumbled. “I can’t go that low.”

She pursed her lips together. “I suppose I could give you a break,” she said, a degree of empathy in her tone. “How does eighteen thousand sound?”

Eighteen thousand plus his last paycheck would just _barely_ put him over the amount he needed. Shoya couldn’t have asked for anything more.

“That’s fine with me,” he said.

She gave him the money right then and there. She gave him a soft bow, and he returned it… though his gaze was still fixed on the pavement, as always. Then, she stooped low, picked up the box with a little effort, and walked off.

He hadn’t even seen the woman’s face; but now, he was eighteen thousand yen richer, and that was all that mattered.

Shoya got his paycheck soon afterward. It was just barely enough to cover the costs--he gathered it all from the safe place he’d nestled his savings away, putting it into an envelope. It wasn’t time to give it to his mother yet. He still had one last thing to do.

And that was to go see Nishimiya.

Would she remember him?

Would she look the same as he remembered her?

It took some time to track her down, but he managed eventually. A sign-reading class--somehow, he suspected that she wasn’t doing it for the easy grade; she probably just enjoyed being able to actually _talk_ to people.

People who weren’t like him.

Just as he was about to open the door, he heard someone say her name… she walked past him… he called out-

She didn’t turn to face him. For a fleeting moment, Shoya thought she had simply ignored him. Then, he remembered: _‘Wait… she’s deaf.’_

He felt like an idiot.

Rushing forward, Shoya grasped her shoulder--she spun around… and froze. She stared at him… and stared; for a moment, he thought he saw something like fear in her eyes.

His lip wobbled--his knees shook… and the words that he wanted to say didn’t come out. Shoya was a persistent boy though, he managed to force out something that sounded like: “Re- remember me? I’m Ishida Shoya…”

There was a split second where he thought she might say something… she even made a strange humming noise, lips unable to form the sounds properly. owing to a lack of use. Then, with a _squeak_ , she turned around and flat out ran from him.

Shoya stared after her.

 _‘Right…’_ he thought. _‘I bullied her. I tormented her. What was I expecting, a hug?’_

She’d given him more than enough chances in grade school; why would he deserve any more now?

His knees gave out. He fell, and only managed to stop himself from hitting the floor by grasping the wall.

Shoya felt his hands shake. That was it then. He hadn’t even managed to give her the notebook he’d kept all these years.

He could feel tears welling up in his eyes… what a way to spend his last day on earth.

Then, something extraordinarily soft grabbed his hand. His clenched fingers were gently pulled back… and three letters were gently drawn in his hand.

W.

H.

Y.

Shoya opened his eyes.

“Huh?” he stammered. He could feel his neck reddening--she was staring down at him… those big brown eyes of hers seeming to pierce into his very soul. He couldn’t move… he gaped at her like a dying fish might--and that fright in her eyes had been replaced by worry. “Y-you came back.”

She blinked at him.

Gently, she grasped his wrist with both of her dainty hands… she let out a squeak, muscles straining, but she managed to help Shoya to his feet.

“T-thanks,” he mumbled. He felt his face heat up. “Did… did you ask me ‘why’? Like… why am I here?”

She couldn’t even hear him! Kami… he was such an idiot.

Shoya screwed his eyes shut. He reached into the inside of his jacket, withdrawing the notebook--it was so worn as to nearly be falling apart, but there was no mistaking what it is. Shoko gasped as he took it out.

“Here,” Shoya said, as he gave her the book.

He blinked.

_‘Right….’_

‘You forgot this,’ Shoya signed.

She gaped at him, looking as if he had unveiled a third eye.

‘You know sign language?’ she signed. He wasn’t the best at it, but Shoya could understand what she was trying to say.

“I studied it!” Shoya exclaimed. He grinned nervously… that redness in his cheeks seemed adverse to fading.

‘I studied it,’ he signed. ‘Just so I could tell you one thing. That-’ His fingers shook so badly that the next thing he signed was unintelligible. Shoya blushed… Shoko merely blinked at him. ‘You suffered because-’ His hands continued to shake. He couldn’t help it; he just couldn’t _help it._

“I-I-” What was he thinking? He couldn’t… talk to her in the normal way. Kami-sama… he was such a dunce!

‘I came here because of my reasons.’ Shoya signed, once he’d taken a moment to breath. ‘I wanted to tell you that I wished that we could both hear each other’s voices. And that-’

He couldn’t help it.

Staring at Shoko’s pretty face… he was finished. His stomach tightened, and his hands shook so badly it was as if he about to have a seizure.

He’d thought about this moment for days, months, _years_. Perhaps he hadn’t fantasized about it, but Shoya had gotten pretty darn close.

In one world, everything could have gone fine.

Shoko smiled apologetically at him. ‘It’s okay,’ she signed.

 _‘What’s okay?’_ Shoya thought. _‘Is_ _everything_ _okay? Or just the fact that I’m making an idiot of myself?’_

He figured it was the latter; being an idiot was easier to forgive than borderline torturing someone for well over half a year.

‘Sorry. I’m just-’ He paused. ‘I wish things had been different.’

‘Me too.’ Shoko signed.

Shoya swallowed. He pointed a finger himself--then at her; then, he clasped his hands together.

‘Can we be friends?’

The gravity of what he’d just asked hit him full force; all those years ago… _that_ was what she’d been asking. To be his-

She hid her face behind the notebook he had returned to her--she was blushing… probably holding back a laugh at how _stupid_ he looked.

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ he signed quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to-’

‘It’s okay.’

She grabbed his wrist gently, that smile still curling her cheeks. His hand was so cold--hers was so warm…

“Oh! How lovely… young love…!”

Shoya wheeled around. Shoko turned a second later, a curious look on her face… if she could hear what the old lady had said, she probably would have been blushing as furiously as he was in the moment.

“O-oba-san!” Shoya stuttered. “It’s-”

“Aren’t you on bread duty, today, Nishiyama-chan?” the woman said. Shoko blinked several times--but it seemed as if the woman had talked right into her ear, and loudly enough for her to _just_ hear what she had said.

Shoko nodded eagerly.

“Bread duty?” Shoya asked.

“To throw to the carp,” the woman told him. “The bread man who normally does it doesn’t come on Tuesdays, so Nishiyama-chan does it instead. Do you want to help?”

Shoya blinked. “I… guess,” he said.

They found themselves outside, standing atop a bridge; koi fished swirled in the waters beneath them… a breeze went through the hair. It was warm, and Shoya allowed himself to breath for a moment.

The sound of Shoko tearing open a bag of bread distracted him. She offered him a piece and he took it… slowly, he began to rip off chunks, tossing them into the water as she did the same.

He couldn’t help but look at her out of the corner of his eye; and again, his nerves got to him--his hands began to shake. The piece of bread fell from his fingers… it dropped into the water with a _plop_. She looked at him inquisitively.

‘Why do you feed them every week?’ he asked. HIs face was red. Thankfully, she didn’t push the issue.

She smiled at him--something she did to everyone he reasoned.

‘It makes me happy to feel needed.’

 _‘This girl is such a weirdo,’_ Shoya thought.

He’d planned on throwing himself a bridge that day.

Shoya stared over the railing, down at his reflection; bloodshot eyes, pale skin aside from that ever present flush on his dimpled cheeks.

He heard footsteps--he turned, and saw a woman walking toward them… a familiar one; a second later, realization flickered across his features. It was her mother. Shoko noticed that he had turned, and seeing her mother, she tucked the notebook he’d given her a little more discreetly into her book bag.

“We’re leaving, Sho-chan,” the woman said. It was her mother--the woman that his own mom had gotten down to her knees and begged for forgiveness after what he had done in grade school came out.

‘Wait- wait!’ Shoko signed. ‘I-’

“ _We’re leaving!”_ Shoko’s mother shouted. “Do you understand? We are _leaving!_ Go in the car _!_ ”

Shoko hung her head. The half-loaf of bread was still clasped in her fingers. Her mom glanced in his direction… there was this look, the way she scrunched her nose and pursed her lips together--her hatred for him was more palpable than anything he had felt before.

They walked away.

He stared at their backs.

They were off the bridge.

He stared.

They were almost to the parking lot…

“ _I’M SORRY!”_

He shouted it at the top of his lungs--Shoko’s mother wheeled around… but he knew that Shoko hadn’t heard him.

“I really regret what I did!” he continued to shout. “I-I-”

Shoko’s mother rolled up her sleeves; faster than he could comprehend, she had strode toward him… reared back her hand--he couldn’t have resisted if he wanted to. With a ringing smack, she slapped him across the cheek.

His entire body jolted--he nearly fell down from the force behind it.

“ _Stay away from her..”_ Shoko’s mother whispered, venom in every syllable of her sentence. There was a strange expression on her face for a moment… then, she turned and strode back to a stunned Shoko.

Shoya hung his head.

He turned and walked off… hands shoved into his pockets, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. _‘At least,’_ he thought, his entire body shaking. _‘At least I managed to give her the notebook back.’_

Shoya… still wasn’t sure why he wanted to give it back to her. There probably weren’t many good memories stored in those pages… the ones that weren’t filled with vile insults and profanity at least.

He took a deep breath.

Nishiyama was out of the way, he supposed. There was nothing left to it… he’d give his mother the money, and that was that.

He never turned back.

Shoko did, though--she looked back… fingers raised so as to make that ‘V’ that was so significant in the sign language. But he didn’t see it; and he never would at this rate.

Her head drooped, and she reluctantly followed behind her mother, the bag of bread still dangling from her fingers. And the notebook he’d given her tucked securely in her book bag.

Shoya hopped on his bike, and went off. It was still early in the afternoon--the sun high above him as he cycled through the streets. Every push of his pedal seemed to take thrice the energy it normally did. Sweat rolled down his forehead.

He wished he had a clock; that way, he could have begun to count down his final hours. Where had that sense of finality gone? Now, there was this panic--his heart pounding, his hands shaking, as if his living organs wanted to remind him that they were there. That what he was going to do would stop them too.

His breathing quickened. It took him a while to cycle home… and when he pulled in, he was not faced with the usual sight: Maria attending to the garden while his mother cut someone’s hair inside of the shop. It was empty… dark.

He locked up his bike and went inside. Shoya was silent--his heart felt as if it was lodged in his throat as he crept upstairs to his room. The door was ajar… someone had been in there.

And his calendar, the one that had every day after that day ripped off, had been moved.

 _‘She knows.’_ he thought.

It was a gut wrenching feeling, to realize that his mother knew what he was about to do--how could he look her in the eye and hand her the money now? She would stop him; restrain him, throw him into his room and toss away the key until he promised not to go through with it.

That was a promise he couldn’t make.

Not when…

Not when he had no fight left in him.

Five years of this pain he’d endured--and Shoya doubted he could make it a day more. Bordering on 1800 days of misery… he’d counted. There was nothing in this world that could make him want to stay anymore; at least, nothing that he knew of.

Shoya gulped.

He slipped into the dark kitchen, envelope in hand. He wrote those words he’d wanted to say for so long on the front-- _’Here’s your money.’_

And below that..

_‘Sorry.’_

His stomach clenched; clapping a hand over his mouth, he rushed to the sink and vomited into it. The sound of liquid hitting the metallic bottom made him cringe, and the stench nearly caused him to throw up again only a few seconds later. But, with shaky fingers, he turned on the tap and allowed the bile to be washed down the drain.

He could hear his mom in the other room… faintly, the sound so distant that he might have missed it. But she was sobbing, there was no doubt about that. He could hear Maria’s confused voice: “Why are you crying, oba-chan? Why are you crying?”

Shoya’s legs wobbled beneath him.

 _‘This is for the best,’_ he told himself, as he had to force his feet to carry him out of the house. _‘This is for the best...’_

With the loss of Nishiyama’s old notebook, not to mention the money paid back to his mother, Ishida Shoya now had nothing in the world that belonged to him.

He stumbled outside, managing to crawl onto his bicycle. The one that his mother told him Maria would someday ride. The one that--again, his mother told him--his children would have ridden on…

Shoya cycled the way he normally did for the first five minutes or so, but after a while, he took a hard left. He went to a specific bridge.

The bridge was tall, the tallest in the town--it was a place where dozens of people walked across it at once… holding hands, talking and laughing, fathers carrying their daughters on their shoulders while sons ran around their mother’s feet.

The sun beat down on him. Warmth hung in the air--there was not a drop of humidity. It was airy. An amazing day really.

An amazing day to die.

Shoya locked his bike up right beside the railing. He didn’t want it to be stolen.

He heaved himself up onto the railing. Someone gasped a few feet behind him--but nobody did anything. It was the bystander effect… surely, someone _else_ would step in to save him.

No one did.

Shoya cast his arms out like an eagle. He allowed the wind to ripple through his hair--he took a deep breath. That feeling of _liberation_ was overwhelming now. The people crowded behind him, giving him a wide berth of space, their curious faces obscured by the Xs that he subconsciously put on them.

He looked down.

His heart pounded in his ears--blood rushed through his body so quickly that he swore he could feel it boiling inside of his veins.

Far, far below… he saw his reflection.

And there was an X on it as well.

He’d read that most people who jumped to their death closed their eyes before they leapt; Shoya was not going to be one of those people. He’d face the end with whatever courage he had left.

Shoya tipped himself forward.

He heard a woman scream behind him.

There was a whistling sound in his ears; his clothing waved in the rushing winds, his hair as well… he was falling. He couldn’t believe it--he had actually managed to go through with it. His suicide.

The water loomed, faster and faster. He was dropping so quickly--it lasted less than ten seconds, but it seemed to stretch for an eternity to him. His vision seemed to compress until he could only see what was directly below him… which was nothing but hard, unforgiving liquid.

His heart settled in his throat. He could still hear screaming--from people back on the bridge, from people who watched him plummet from the streets below. The river beckoned. Only seconds were left now.

Something occurred to him.

The last thing Shoya thought before he hit the water, was that more than anything, he wanted to _live_.

Then, with a mighty splash, he hit the water and everything turned white. He felt a single moment of agony--but there was no pain after that.

There wasn’t anything after that.

\---

He woke up suddenly.

Blood pounding in his ears, sweat rolling down his cheeks, his face red…

That dream: what on earth had that been? So much pain; so much agony and suffering--nothing at all like the apathy he normally felt.

He swung his feet down onto the floor, standing up. It was still early--the sun had barely risen, and his room was still half shrouded in darkness.

 _‘What the hell kind of dream was that…?’_ he thought. He didn’t dream much, but when he did… well, the specifics of it, as always, had begun to leave him. He remembered a few things--but the thing he remembered most was falling. Falling… falling… and that was it.

He ran a hand through his hair.

The boy glanced around his room--though, there wasn’t much to speak of, just the bare essentials really. A wardrobe with all of his clothes. A few textbooks from school, stacked up on a chair. The only thing out of the ordinary in a room such as this...was a box that lay on top of the aforementioned wardrobe.

He wasn’t sure what encouraged him to get up and head over to that box. But he did anyways.

The boy opened it up--and inside were manga… all sorts, from uninspired slice of life to the most action-packed of shounen. He flicked through them absentmindedly for a moment… they’d all been stacked up once, but now they were disorganized and out of order.

He blinked.

A brown book peeked out at him… nothing like the other, colorful manga that surrounded it.

He grasped the spine, pulled it out of the box, and opened it to the first page.

‘‘Property of Ishida Shoya’ it read.

He flipped to the second page.

_“My mom made me get this diary for… whatever reason, I dunno. It’s dumb, but I know she’s gonna check to make sure I write in it, so-”_

He closed the book, and tossed it back into the box.

What had he been expecting? His mother had lugged home this box full of manga, hoping that at least _one_ of her sons would be interested in them. Itachi had taken a single look inside the box, gave mom a soft shake of his head, then went back to his reading.

Sasuke… was not so lucky. He was the youngest; and not an emotional cripple like his brother. And in some vain attempt to salvage his mother’s feelings (and eighteen thousand yen spent)...

“I’ll take it,” he had told her.

She’d squealed and pinched his cheeks--then given him a hug so tight that he had been unable to breathe for half a minute.

And now, he had this box of manga he abhorred sitting in his room because he was too afraid his mother would catch him throwing it away. Great.

He got up, and dressed for the school day; yanking on that uniform that was equally tight and loose, constricting and liberating.

“Morning, Sasuke,” his mother greeted. She was what one would call an aged beauty--someone who, with twenty years slashed off their life, would have been drop dead gorgeous. But age had caught up to her. Crow’s feet around her eyes, wrinkles around her lips, bones cracking and her back hurting… his mother was not the woman she once was.

She could still cook a mean breakfast, though.

“Where’s nii-san and tou-san?” Sasuke asked, as he sat down. His mother was buttering a piece of toast, and he found himself quickly doing the same.

“Your father’s already at work,” she mumbled. “And your brother went out for the day. Speaking of which… you need to hurry up and eat, mister, or else you’ll be late for school.”

“I have plenty of time,” he insisted.

Mikoto pointed a butter knife in his direction, and whatever protest that was on his lips fell off. He nodded reluctantly, and finished buttering his toast.

He went upstairs and finished getting ready. When he got back down and made for the front door, Mikoto ambushed him.

“Have a _wonderful_ day!” she chirped--despite her age, it was with ease as she trapped him and forced him to endure a big, sloppy kiss pressed to his cheek. Sasuke’s face heated up.

“Kaa-san…!” he groaned.

She giggled in that happy way of hers. “Be safe!” Mikoto called, as she ushered him out of the door. With one last wave, she disappeared back inside the house.

He eased himself onto his bike, and took off.

It took him quite a while to peddle to school… passing groups of friends cycling together, or cars with kids whose parents drove them. Well over half of the school took the same path--it was wide and open… lush fields on either side, with plenty of room to maneuver and enjoy the morning light.

Sasuke merely kept cycling, his mind blank and empty; he didn’t really think about much in these moments… he just enjoyed the silence, the relaxing feeling, the sun shining down on him and the wind blowing against his face.

There were already dozens of bikes in the lockup when he got there. Sasuke simply clipped his to the usual spot he kept his bike, and went about his day. He made it to his homeroom without being bothered, sliding into his seat and glancing out of the window.

People filed in. Friend groups gathered together and began to talk--loudly, irritatingly… he almost wished he’d brought ear plugs to drown out their noises. He stared out the window… at the people who still frolicked in the front lawn of the school, at the distant houses and buildings where cars moved in dense lines between them.

He took a deep breath.

The teacher walked in a few seconds before the bell rung, and stood at the front of the classroom. “I’m going to do roll call,” he said. “So please, raise your hand when I say your name…”

\---

He cycled home, as per the usual. Luckily enough there wasn’t much traffic to speak of, so Sasuke got home rather quickly; that wasn’t the case everyday… sometimes, the roads were so congested it took him until night to get home.

“Tadaima!” he called.

“Okaeri!” his mother called back.

A moment later. “Okaeri,” two softer, male voices said.

His father sat on the couch, eyes glued to the television. He was an old man, older than even his mother--his hair graying, wrinkles aplenty on his face… when the family went out in public, people instantly assumed that Sasuke and Itachi had taken after their mothers.

Which was true, to an extent.

There was something on the television that captured Sasuke’s attention.

 _“We’ve confirmed that there were_ _no_ _deaths this morning from the reported suicide on Hirohito bridge,”_ a TV reporter said. _“Traffic cameras prove that someone did indeed jump off of the bridge, but that they were successfully pulled out of the water; the victim was rushed to an ambulance apparently still alive, but we have not received any further news about him. In other news…”_

Fugaku turned the television off.

“When are they going to put more safety measures on that bridge?” his father grumbled. Sasuke couldn’t help but privately agree--Hirohito was the ‘official’ name for the bridge, but if things kept up, it would only grow more and more to be known as the suicide bridge.

Sasuke shrugged.

Supper was made about an hour or so after he got home. Steaming plates loaded with the most delicious food he had ever seen--the aroma was sweet; Sasuke normally didn’t like sweet things that much, but he could make an exception in this case.

Itachi was the epitome of grace as he ate… quickly, precise movements that left half his plate gone in a matter of seconds. Fugaku ate slowly--fingers riddled with arthritis, his face scrunched up in irritation as the food kept falling from his chopsticks.

Mikoto ate as a normal person might, savoring every bite and taking long sips from a glass of juice.

He had time to observe these kind of things… picking at his food, eating a little bit at a time yet never really taking a bite.

“Everything alright, Sasuke?” Mikoto asked. Fugaku and Itachi did not pause in their eating, but she did, setting her fork down on the table and looking at him curiously.

Sasuke forced something that looked like a smile onto his face. “Everything’s fine, kaa-san,” he said.

He went to bed soon after dinner.

Sasuke did not dream often--so to have two dreams in a row seemed a landmark.

He was walking. There was a wide open path in front of him, kind of like the one he cycled to school on; but there was no one on it. It was empty, aside from him--there wasn’t anything at the end of it… no buildings to the side, nothing behind him.

Yet he kept going.

Suddenly, he froze… not of his own accord either. Sasuke looked up--and a faceless figure plummeted down to him. He heard a scream.

Then he woke up.

Blood pounding in his ears, sweat rolling down his cheeks, his face red…

That feeling of déjà vu had never been stronger…

Sasuke shook his head. _‘I must be out of my mind,’_ he decided. Who on earth had dreams about other people commiting suicide? Maybe this was why his mother preferred to keep the television off… she did say it would rot out his brains someday. That news report must have bothered him more than he’d figured.

He stood up, trudging out of his room and into the bathroom; splashing cool water against his face, Sasuke stared at himself in the mirror. For a moment, he saw that faceless figure once again, at the climax of a fall that would only lead to one’s death.

“It was just a dream…” he told himself.

Sasuke laid back down on his bed a moment later, and managed to slowly drift off back to sleep.

Thankfully, he didn’t have any more dreams that night.

He woke up.

Ignoring the box of manga on top of his wardrobe, Sasuke yanked on his uniform once more. He went down the stairs--Mikoto smiled at him from the stove. She was buttering toast, and he quickly set to doing the same.

“Have a _great_ day!” she said, several minutes later as he was making his way out of the door. Again, Mikoto pressed a big, sloppy kiss against his cheek.

“Kaa-san…”

She ruffled his hair--not that it mattered, as he never bothered to comb it anyway. “Be safe,” she said.

He mounted his bike a minute later. A wind whipped through the town--cold and bitter; Sasuke paused for a moment… and so did the city it seemed. There was an unearthly silence for a moment, before a distant car horn broke it, and the town’s rhythm continued once again.

Sasuke set down the path. Airy and free--these minutes it took to cycle to school were often some of the best of his day. Here, he was unmolested… he was liberated… there was nothing or no one that could bother him. He moved by the power of his feet, by the will in his heart--nothing affected him, nothing was spoken or needed to be spoken. He had a destination, and he had a route.

HIs breathing was slow, level, even. A girl--one he vaguely remembered from grade school--waved at him… Sasuke did not wave back. She looked affronted by his apathy.

Sasuke reached the school; he locked his bike up, and stepped into the building.

The day sped by…

He had an elective this year: a psychology class of sorts. He’d considered doing some kind of sports, but having to dress out and deal with the other boys ‘locker room’ talk seemed a little too much for him to bear. _‘Besides,’_ Sasuke had reasoned. _‘This class shouldn’t be too difficult.’_ All it was was examining the ‘human mind’. So… talking about how greedy and ignorant and arrogant people were, putting some flowery words on top of it, then submitting it as an essay.

Sasuke dropped himself into his seat. The teacher of this class was a common sight in the school: a portly man with chubby cheeks and a bright smile, hair balding slightly and his clothes old enough to be tacky but not so old as to be archaic. He was nice enough, Sasuke supposed.

That didn’t stop him from being irritating. “Alright, class!” he said, turning to the chalkboard once the bell had rung--everyone fell silent and paid attention. “We’re going to be starting on a project that we’ll continue through this semester--it’s an entirely optional one, but I recommend it to anyone who’s been slacking on their grades!”

His teacher directed his gaze to a group of boys seated near the back, but Sasuke shifted awkwardly as well. It wasn’t that he was the _worst_ at psychology… but having a complete disregard for someone’s class didn’t tend to help when it came to grading.

Sasuke heaved a sigh. _‘I’m going to end up having to do this,’_ he thought. _‘Great.’_

The teacher wrote three words on the chalkboard. _‘Your Personal Diary’_ , and below that _‘Project’_.

“It’s pretty simple,” he said, clapping his hands together. “You guys are all going to be keeping a diary--and without alteration, I’d like for you to put all of your thoughts into it. Of course, you can avoid anything overtly personal… but be sure to put in things that happen to you, ecetera, ecetera. More details are on these papers here.”

He tapped a stack of papers in front of him. “Anyways, this is not a group project. You will check in every week with your diaries… you may share them with me, a classmate, or a parent--basically, someone who can verify that you’ve actually done them. Near the end of the semester, I would like for you to put together a psychological report about yourself… including all sorts of things that you’ll be able tell from all of your journal entries.”

The class collectively groaned--or cheered. The girls in particular seemed eager about this kind of stuff… but then again, Sasuke thought, a few of them had probably been more than used to writing diaries before. It would be an easy grade for them.

 _‘I don’t know how to write some…_ _stupid_ _diary,’_ he thought bitterly, fist clenched.

But… he pictured the look on his brother’s face when he came home with a failing grade. Or his mother’s face, or his father’s.

Sasuke sighed.

He stood up, walked to the front, and grabbed one of the packets full of details on the project. The teacher smiled at him, even flashing him a wink.

He stared down at the paper. The words _‘Personal Diary Project’_ imprinted at the top… they really made him half-tempted to tear the small packet in half.

But instead he sat down, and began to read.

“Raise your hand if you’re going to do the project,” the teacher said. “And I’ll come around and hand you the diary books I want you to write in.”

Sasuke heaved yet another sigh, and raised his hand…

\---

She stared at the notebook.

It was crumpled… worn… years and years old. Once upon a time it had been her link to the outside world--but with sign language and the (at times, useless) hearing aid she wore, Shoko had been able to grow past using something like this.

But it still intrigued her.

 _‘Why did he give me this?’_ she pondered.

After so long, to have him come back into her life just to hand her this book of memories was so… quaint. She had thought about Shoya quite a bit--and a thousand things had gone through her head when she imagined seeing him. She never imagined that he would do something like this; if anything, she had imagined he would run up to her and yank out her hearing aid… just like old times.

Shoko sighed.

There was the squeak of a chair--but of course, Shoko could not hear it. Yuzuru peered around the corner at her sister’s bed… her lips pursed together in something that could be called a scowl.

Their mother had wasted no time in fussing out Shoko the second the two had gotten home. Yuzuru had been privy to it… and she knew that Shoko had talked to _that_ boy…

 _‘That notebook.’_ Yuzuru thought. _‘That’s the one she used to talk with people when we first moved here. I remember she lost it…’_

Did that boy…?

Yuzuru shook her head.

“My sister…” she mumbled. “... is such an idiot sometimes.”

\---

Sasuke scowled.

The paper seemed to mock him; over and over, he tried to get that first draft of his ‘diary’ down… using scrap paper, so he didn’t have to erase for the tenth time. But it never worked.

_My name is Uchiha Sasuke, and this is my-_

No. He erased that in a heartbeat.

_Today, I did-_

No. Erased, once again.

His scowl deepened.

He was not a… _diary_ person; he barely managed to tell his own mother about how his day went. How was he supposed to tell some teacher that he didn’t even like?

Sasuke swallowed.

But… he had always been a smart person. An inventive one. And above all else, he’d never been adverse to using dirty tactics.

He stood and crossed the room. The box of manga was still open--the diary straight on top of the pile.

Sasuke slid back into his chair, setting the diary down on his desk. He flipped to the first entry, and began to read.

_“My mom made me get this diary for… whatever reason, I dunno. It’s dumb, but I know she’s gonna check to make sure I write in it, so I’m going to do it. My name is Ishida Shoya, and I’m in the sixth grade as of right now. My life’s pretty boring. I have a few friends, but I wouldn’t say anyone’s like my best friend or anything. My mom’s nice. My dad’s gone. And my sister’s really annoying… thank kami-sama she’s with her boyfriend most of the time. Today, something did happen though. I got into a fight with-”_

Sasuke’s lip curled.

Of course he’d have to change quite a bit. Maybe make the writing sound a little more mature at that. But for the most part… he could paraphrase this ‘Ishida Shoya’s’ life, and use that as the basis for his diary. Perfect.

Sasuke picked up his pen, and began to write. His gaze shifted back and forth… he’d take a sentence from Ishida’s diary, reword it, rephrase it ever so slightly, then write it down. It was much easier than trying to speak from the heart--for someone like Sasuke, it was practically a godsend… if he believed in those sort of things, of course.

It took him about half an hour to do it. Considering it had taken him half an hour prior to get absolutely nothing done, Sasuke had half a mind to track down this Ishida and give him his thanks personally.

He made to close the diary… but something pricked at him, Curiosity perhaps, or maybe some explanation as to why this had fallen into his possession.

Sasuke flipped to the last entry.

 _“This is the last page. Guess I’ve got to get a second volume or something like that…”_ were the first words that appeared to him.

 _‘Second volume?’_ Sasuke thought.

He crossed the room, and began to sift through the box. It only took him a moment to locate the second book--in a sea of manga, the green journal was something that was easy to locate.

Sasuke sat back down at his desk.

He flipped to the last page of the second diary.

_‘Soon it will be April fifteenth; and that day will be my last one on Earth. Today is only the thirteenth, but this will be my last entry in my diary. To whom it may concern… I hope this book has helped you to understand why I’m going to go through with this. If someone does read this--thank you; and goodbye.’_

Sasuke blinked.

 _‘Today’s April the sixteenth…’_ he thought.

A deep breath.

Suddenly, the knowledge that he was holding a dead man’s diary seemed to…

He didn’t know what it did.

Sasuke calmly closed the diary, stacked it beneath the first volume, and turned the light off on top of his desk.

He slid into bed, and fell asleep after a few minutes of staring at the wall.

That night he dreamed.

A path. A faceless figure, plummeting towards him. A scream. And a splash. Then, he woke up.

Blood pounding in his ears, sweat rolling down his cheeks, his face red…

Little did he know that he’d just gotten himself into something that would change his life forever..

**End of Chapter I**

\---

**This clocked out at just under eight thousand words. I can’t say following chapters will be as long as this… a lot of exposition was required for this, and I wanted to give Shoya his fair dues. Still, I’ll try to make them fairly long.**

**What’s the plot in this?**

**Well, read the next few chapters when they’re posted. I’ve already set up the plot here, but it’ll take a little bit before you guys get it. Trust me, it should be good.**

**As always, I’d really appreciate it if you guys left a comment. It’ll take like thirty seconds, and every comment can really help to improve my day. If you want to contact me you can message me on fanfiction.net, my name there is BigE2955. You can also reach my via email at bige2955@gmail. Or, you can hit me up on discord, my tag being** **BigE2955#3052.**

**Thank you for reading, as always have an awesome day.**


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